Things Hidden
by thathottrekkiechick
Summary: A series of one shots exploring the magic that is Eames. REVIEW PLEEEEEEASE!
1. Chapter 1

**Things Hidden: Part I**

"Eames?" Ariadne knocked a little louder. "Eames, its Ariadne. Come on, we need to go, we said 9:30, remember?" She waited for a reply, a sound of any kind. Nothing. She tried the door and found it open. Hesitating, she poked her head through and glanced around. "Eames, are you in here?"

She stepped quietly into the room, closing the door. She couldn't help but enter: the room was an interior designer's nightmare. Sheer, dark purple curtains hanging from a broken rod were pulled haphazardly across the single window, so that everything was left in deep shadow: the small, moth-eaten couch, sitting off center; the standing lamp, providing very little light due to the thick coating of dust; the miniscule kitchen - an ice box, a sink, and a diminutive wood burning stove; a tall rack leaning against the far wall, holding several hundred books of varying size and shape; the coffee table, scratched beyond repair. On every surface was an article of clothing, some men's and some women's. Lying scattered across the table next to two bottles (Givenchy GENTLEMAN, and Britney Spears Fantasy) was what looked like playing cards. Ariadne stepped closer and examined one. It was a driver's license. DOMINIC BRENNAN, D.O.B: 1980 read the name. She frowned and picked up another. MARCUS DOLL, D.O.B: 1989. Another: JEREMIAH JACOBS, D.O.B: 1992. JOSEPH KONSTANTINE, D.O.B: 1942. Each card boasted a picture of Eames, or at least one of someone who very much resembled a younger – or older – version of him. There were a few passports as well, and some sort of birth certificate in an unfamiliar language. Ariadne wasn't sure whether to be angry or amused. She didn't have time to decide. Eames' voice came drifting out from behind a door beside the sink.

"Sorry, love, I won't be able to attend the meeting tonight. I have a real job." He walked out into the living room, greeting her with a small smile.

Ariadne stared at him…he was dressed in a spotless white tuxedo and leather shoes, perfectly tailored to his body, his bowtie and collar undone. He was clean-shaven, his skin clear and his hair free of product: it fell sideways across his forehead and down into his eyes. A small ruby set in gold glimmered on his left pinkie. He looked clean and healthy – everything Eames was _not…_

"You look…you look so _young_," Ariadne said incredulously, blinking as though she could correct what she saw. Eames shot his cuffs with a chuckle. "Well that _is_ the point, love," he replied. "I'm twenty-four. Or at least, the girl I'm meeting thinks I am." He picked up the license that said JEREMIAH JACOBS and slipped it in a small leather wallet, which was placed in his inside pocket. He turned away from her, facing a full-length mirror propped up beside the front door.

"Please send my regrets to Cobb. And give Arthur a kiss from me," he said, smiling at her reflection. He let his shoulders fall forward ever so slightly, set his hands in his pockets, and cocked his head back gently. Ariadne laughed out loud. He wasn't thirty-six year old Jimmy Eames anymore. He was twenty-four year old…whatever his name was. "You look great, Eames."

"Thanks, babydoll," he answered in a perfect American accent. He winked and left the door open behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Things Hidden: Part II**

Ariadne looked up from her small-scale model of Manhattan when she heard the warehouse door open and saw the rain rush in along with Eames. He returned her smile as he pulled off and tossed aside his double-breasted black trench coat. He strolled over to her work station; Ariadne noted Arthur hang up Eames' coat, mumbling.

"Good morning, love," Eames greeted her, running a fingertip over the top of the tiny Chrysler building. She gently pushed his hand away. "Good morning….Jeremiah?" She smiled. Eames laughed silently. "Noticed the IDs did you? Observant little minx you are," he said. Ariadne spotted that red poker chip, weaving its way between his fingers as he spoke. _Is that his totem? He always seems to have it on him…_

"You have so many! Plus that birth certificate."

He nodded. "Well, yes of course I have so many, I make them, that's what I do you know. As far as the certificate, that's a little project I've been working on – I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you if I told you, so I won't tell you." They shared a laugh, and Eames strolled to his desk, pushing papers around listlessly, jangling the coins in his pocket.

"How was your _real job_, Eames?" Ariadne asked off-handedly as they both began to work in earnest. "Hmm? Oh last night…that was fine thanks…why do you ask?" She shrugged. "Just curious I guess…a guy doesn't often completely change his entire wardrobe, posture, name, and birthday and go out on the town, does he?" Eames smiled. "Well, _I_ do."

"Yes, but you're…you," she replied, at which Eames chuckled. "So true, darling, so true."

She wanted to ask more…Eames had never been candid or forthcoming, at least not about anything significant or personal…she knew _nothing _of him…she wanted to know _what _he had been up to,_ whom _he was doing it to and _why_, and whether or not it was connected to dream-sharing. But she saw the way he pursed his lips and lowered his eyes to the folder on his desk: the conversation was over…_for now._


	3. Chapter 3

**Things Hidden: Part III**

Ariadne followed Arthur down the dimly lit corridor. "Thanks for picking me up, Arthur," she said, looking up at his blank profile. She grinned inwardly; he looked so damn handsome in his sleek, jet black tuxedo. She shifted the hem of her short skirt. "No problem," he replied. He sighed. "See, _you_ are a college student, 23, living in Paris: its plausible that you don't have a car. Mr. _Eames_, on the other hand, is a fairly wealthy, somewhat nomadic, 36-year-old man; so its _not_ plausible that he doesn't have a car, much less a driver's license." "Or at least, a _real_ one…" Ariadne finished under her breath.

"Sorry?" Arthur questioned as he stopped in front of 13A.

"Nothing…"

Arthur knocked three times. "Eames. Lets go, we need to be at the gala in 10 minutes... Eames, please, I do not want my car broken into again. Lets _go." _

Nothing. He knocked louder. It was a few seconds before they both heard the woman. "…oh…oh OH JIMMY YES YES OH YES!" Arthur looked at a gently blushing Ariadne. "Sadly, this is not the first time I've had to deal with this…" he said resignedly.

He sighed again, his face set, and pounded on the door until it opened. Ariadne's eyes jumped to the light fixture above her. Eames stood in the doorway, covered in sweat and what appeared to be red lipstick, and completely naked. "Really not the best time right now, darling."

Arthur glared at him. "You do realize we have a meeting with a client tonight, don't you?"

"Yes," Eames answered blandly, leaning against the doorjamb and examining his nails.

"So, what do you call this, then?" Arthur demanded.

Eames looked straight at Arthur with that insolent half-smirk. "Off-cite research."

Arthur fixed him with his death glare. Eames wasn't fazed. "If you want me to get dressed and go with you, you've only to ask nicely darling," he said condescendingly, looking at the point man with an expectant purse of his lips.

Ariadne interjected before Arthur could fall into a tirade. "Eames, none of us want to be late, ok? We can't afford it this early in the game." Eames' shaded, blue gaze fell on the petite architect, and the corner of his mouth twitched at her serious tone.

"Well," he reposted with a shrug. "The lady doth protest too much-I shall dress. Two minutes, please." With that, he disappeared behind the half-closed door. Arthur let his breath out slowly. "Does he do this often?" Ariadne inquired warily, sensing the simmering frustration tensing Arthur's neck. "Mmmm," was his reply. Exactly two minutes later, Eames appeared in a tuxedo that seemed a little worse for wear- _then again, _Ariadne corrected herself, _most everything he has is worse for wear..._

"Shall we?" he grinned, offering Ariadne his arm and sending Arthur a wink. "You look lovely, by the way, Ariadne...You look beautiful too, darling."


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, this is getting longer than I expected! I hope you are all enjoying it so far, it really just keeps going. Let me know your thoughts on these next few parts! **

**I own nothing…tragically. **

**Much thanks to my good friend Deena for all these brilliant ideas.**

**Things Hidden: Part IV**

Ariadne sighed exasperatedly, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. She had been searching - for a month now. She had bought a plane ticket to freaking Mombasa, Kenya, tossed and turned on the eight-hour flight, and scoured the downtown, the uptown, the betweentown. Nothing. She knew Eames wouldn't be found that easily, but she had expected _something_ to come up…at least _one_ person who_ knew _him…

She shook her head and avoided a speeding taxi, stepping up onto the crowded walkway. Eames was her last hope of finding him…Cobb's number was disconnected, as was Yusuf's; there was no database that came up with any information on him. _Then again_, she reminded herself, _a computer can't get much from the name Arthur…_

Why did these men have such an aversion to full names? Was it a security thing? She smiled momentarily. That seemed like Arthur…_maybe that's not even his real name…_

She sighed again. The point was, she _needed_ to find him. After Inception, there were so many unanswered questions, so many ideas left by the wayside – ideas that could never possibly be hashed out at college. She needed another job. And who better to go to than the Point Man? In any case, she didn't want to bother Cobb, now that he'd gotten his life back. So Arthur it was…and Arthur was nowhere to be found.

Ariadne turned a corner, heading for the train that would take her to the airport. She'd have to resign herself to the fact that Eames was more slippery than an eel in a barrel of oil; she wouldn't track him down, so she couldn't hope to locate Arthur. _At least I tried…and I guess Mombasa is kind of nice…kind of_, she mused as she passed a few fruit stands, a bookstore, and a tailor…

She halted and turned. _I know that shirt…_ she backpedaled and peered through the dingy window of the tailor's storefront. A small man stood next to a mannequin, sewing a button onto the collar of a bright pink, paisley patterned silk shirt._ Only one man would spend the money to get __that__ shirt repaired. _

Ariadne entered the shop, smiling as the tailor looked up. "Hello," she said, standing as confidently as she could. "That's an unusual shirt." She cleared her throat as the man nodded and continued stitching up a small hole in the sleeve.

"Do you happen to know who that shirt belongs to, sir?" The man smiled jovially, clipping the string. "Oh yes, this young man is my best source of income. He always tips very generously."

Ariadne took a step forward, shifting her weight. "Can you tell me his name please?" The man looked up at her. "No, I am sorry young lady, my customer prefers to remain anonymous."

_Of course he does…_ "Can you at least tell me where I can find him? You must have a mailing address, at least." The man frowned. "No, miss. He has not given me any address of any kind."

She wasn't about to give up now. "Could you give me the name of someone who _could_ find him?" The man considered her for a moment. "You'll have to do better than that," he said plainly.

Ariadne bit the inside of her lip. After four days wandering around Mombasa, she was aware of just what that statement meant. She pulled her wallet from her messenger bag and counted out 10 euros. "This is half of everything I have…now _please_ tell me where –"

The man took the bills before she was finished speaking. "On Thursdays he's at the Kuma Café until 2:35." With that, the man left the room, taking that pink shirt with him.

Ariadne checked her watch. 2:27. _Terrific…just enough time to get lost again. _She readjusted the strap on her bag and left the shop, heading off in search.


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, I know it got a bit confusing there, with the sudden shift in time…**

**Think of my other story "Sleep to Dream" as a companion to this one, but out of temporal order, and you should have it right on the nose! Bear with me and my sad excuse for writing a linear story….**

**More credit to Deena, without whom this story would be very static…**

**Sigh…I own nothing. Except for a deep longing for Joseph Gordon Levitt…**

**Things Hidden: Part V**

She tapped his shoulder with two fingers.

"Sod off, I'm eating, thanks," was his pleasant reply. He didn't turn, but took another bite of what appeared to Ariadne to be rice pilaf and pulled pork. She shifted her weight forward and laid her hand on his arm. He set down his fork rather forcibly and turned to berate the source of annoyance during his lunch break. The words died in his throat when he took in the small canvas messenger tote, the red blouse, and the green scarf. He looked up to her eyes, and his face split into a wide grin. Ariadne couldn't help it – she smiled as well. She hadn't anticipated this: the sudden rush of joy at seeing another team member. _Like old times_. "Hello, Ea – "

He made a miniscule slashing motion through the air along with a tiny shake of the head. She closed her mouth again and glanced around before nodding once. _Is someone looking for him? Should I be worried?_

She dismissed the thought when he grinned again and gestured to the chair adjacent to his. She sat, laying her bag at her feet. Then she studied him. _After four days and 3 hours of searching, I'm going to savor __finding __the bastard. _

Memories flooded back to her as she took in his pale yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a silver Rolex on his left wrist, the way he slouched back in his chair, the thin layer of scruff that obscured his jaw. He sipped his beer and raised an eyebrow when he caught her staring. She shrugged and answered his unasked question: "Its nice to see you again."

He smiled again, but it was smaller, tighter. "Pleasant to see you again too, love." Ariadne did not miss his hand move to his pocket and slip out that poker chip. Her smile only widened. "You're not dreaming, Eames," she said quietly. "And it really is me…could anyone impersonate someone and fool _you_?"

Eames chuckled softly, nodding assent. He kept the little black and red chip tucked between his second and third finger. "So," he said, gesturing for the waiter to bring another beer to the table. "What in the bloody house of the holy are you doing out here in Mombasa, hm? Studying abroad, are we?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him and gingerly took the beer, examining the label. "I'm actually here…" _Oh boy I'm gonna have to come out with it…to __Eames__ of all people_. "I'm here to find Arthur." Eames raised his eyebrows, drained his bottle, and smirked knowingly. "Oh, I see…I see. You miss the job that much already, do you? Or…" he continued, leaning his arms on the table and letting his smirk extend farther into his eyes. "You miss our fabulous point man. That's it then, eh?"

Ariande felt the flush creep up into her cheeks. "Don't know what you mean," she replied, taking a sip of the beer and instantly regretting it. Eames raised his eyebrows in mock concern. "Ohhh, yes you do, love. Don't think no one saw that tender moment you two had during the inception."

Her eyes snapped up to his. "What?" she croaked. He chuckled in a rather sinister fashion. "The second level. I was still a blonde with a 22-inch waist. _You_ saw me walk by. _I _saw you snogging. It was really rather adorable."

Ariadne regained her composure with a fold of her arms. "That's strictly between me and Arthur." "Oh I hope that's not the _only_ thing between you and Arthur," he shot back. "Besides that raging sexual tension, of course…"

Before the architect could proffer another rebuttal, Eames stood. "Well, I should really be going, work to be done and all that."

Ariadne followed suit, clutching her bag defensively. "Of course you can come, love, if you insist. I suppose I can trust you with my address?" he added, abruptly serious. His rain-blue eyes focused fiercely into hers. "Uh, yeah of course," she stammered with a quick nod, which he returned.

They stepped out into the vivid sunshine bouncing off the street. Ariadne was about to ask why Eames was donning his brown blazer in 87 degree weather, when something stopped her. It might have been the shift in his weight, or the twitch of his hand toward her. "What is it?" she asked, her voice quieter than she would've thought. Eames glanced sideways at her, then past her down the street at something she could not make out through the crowd. "Er…we need to go. Now." He gripped her arm in his left hand and half-pulled her down the walkway. "We need to run."


	6. Chapter 6

**Things Hidden: Part VI**

Ariadne yanked her arm from his grip as they skidded around yet another corner and tripped through the tiny alley. "What the _hell_ is going on, Eames?" she demanded between gasps for air. They had been running for what felt to her like an hour, zig-zagging across side streets, through crowded residential spots, up and down stairs. "Oh…" Eames began, pressing his back against the stone side of a building and glancing over his shoulder. "Nothing…just some old friends wanting to catch up." His hand slid seemingly involuntarily into his pocket to grip the poker chip. He continued to stare out into the street, his eyes flicking from the windows, to the cars, to the people.

Ariadne stepped closer to Eames, until she was looking straight up at him._ "_Who are those people, and _why are they shooting at us_?"

Eames hesitated, tossed the poker chip into the air, pocketed it, and stepped calmly back into the street. "I think its best you don't know those sorts of things, little darling," he said over his shoulder. She followed him doggedly as he wound through the idling cars and wandered through an open doorway.

"Well ah…Please come in," Eames said, stopping at the dead end of yet another of the tiny, dim-lit hallways the twosome had been traversing. He fished in his jacket pocket and procured a small metal key, which opened the door on their left. Ariadne clomped in, utterly beyond any sort of bewilderment or irritation, instead finding herself completely worn out.

She set her bag beside the door as he moved past her into the room to turn on a lamp. Eames removed his jacket, the space was illuminated, and Ariadne couldn't help herself. She swept her eyes over every surface, absorbing the long, low room, dominated by an aged, brown leather sofa. To the left stood a kitchen that perhaps had seen better days. To the right, a red door and a large object covered with a canvas tarp in the corner. Ariadne's first thought would've been _telescope?_ if Eames hadn't started talking. "Afraid you'll have to stick around for a bit, little darling. Please sit." He punctuated his request with a flourishing removal of papers and books from the couch. Ariadne sank onto the leather and watched him walk purposefully through the red door. She took a breath to sigh and promptly sneezed. Some sort of chemical wafted through the air. She rubbed her nose and tried not to breath extensively. _What the hell am I doing?_ she scolded herself. _Looking for a man who obviously cannot be found, in fricking Kenya with __this__ guy…_


End file.
